I never thought myself a poet
Nor a writer, yes it's true
Not creative or inspired
(that's what brighter people do)

So I kept these secrets hidden
How I scribbled in a book
Loving all these words I'd written
With no eye allowed to look

Then someone, they offered boldly
Called me all these things I've named
Fed that fire deep inside me
Waved up high that burning flame

So I tell you, (would you believe me?)
That in earnest you might give
Kind a word in truth out spoken
A new world that one might live


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